


Tangled Webs We Weave

by marchionessofblackadder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Childhood, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When fools trade away their most precious treasures, Rumpelstiltskin does not suffer to pity them. In retrieving a couple's young child for their folly, he entrusts his caretaker to the duty of tending and raising her instead of dealing her away. But one touch of magic, it seems, makes for a powerful tangle in the web of even the most treacherous of spiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Wind Brings

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be a series, this is now a full story. Oops!
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies. :)

The doors to the castle had blown open from the treacherous storm, mountain winds and icy rain sheeting against the stones and glass. The slam of the heavy oak jolted Belle from her drowsy dreams near the fire, curled in her master’s plush leather chair. Her book had fallen from her lap to the floor where the soft wool blanket pooled about her slippered feet, and she fluttered her eyes against the brightness of the merrily crackling fire, squinting in the otherwise shrouding darkness of the great hall. She’d fallen asleep over the words, straining her eyes over the foreign language that read with symbols rather than letters. She hadn’t practiced it since her skirts brushed her ankles in girlhood, but she’d found the Dark One’s extensive library vast and filled with wonders bound in leather and parchment, she had taken it up once more.  
  
The howling wind echoed through the dusty castle like a banshee, prickling her arms with gooseflesh. Belle stood up on shaky legs, dizzy from dreams, and clutched the back of the chair to get her footing. Her dressing gown, a delicate dove white satin with embroidered golden scrollwork whispered softly over the skirts of her creamy white nightdress beneath whenever she moved, quiet as a whisper. A gift from Rumpelstiltskin, it was made more for fashion and appeal than warmth, though the candlelight caught the golden ribbons that tied along the crepe sleeves prettily. Amidst her clothes, all linen skirts and muslin blouses, it was the finest thing she owned, and she wore it with more pride than a ballgown, feeling more like a lady than ever as she took up the lone candle and made her way through the shadowed hall. Strange dress for a strange place, it gave her a little more courage to roam the dark castle on her own.  
  
The large doors would normally open at her hesitant touches, but on the other side of the hall, the foyer was roaring with wind and rain, and it pressed against the hall’s entrance so that Belle was forced to lean her entire body into the effort. Immediately, the wind blew the flame of her candle out, whipping her hair and robes back in a frenzy. The suits of armor, the table, the vase of roses, everything was knocked asunder, casting dark shadows against the floor. Belle hurried down the steps the moment the wind let up enough to not hurl her back, and she nearly slipped on the slick flagstones. It took all of her strength to push the doors shut, and the rest to release the bolt back in place to keep it locked once more.  
  
The consuming quiet that was left in place was disturbingly still, and Belle found herself anxious upon turning around. The foyer was slick with rain, and she could hear a gentle dripping from somewhere within. The shadows reached and climbed the walls until Belle's eyes adjusted in the near darkness. She stepped carefully around the shattered suit of armor, mildly concerned with how she would piece it back together when a great, creaking whine brought the hair on the back of her neck prickling upward.  
  
Across the room, the overturned table rolled onto its side, and an inky black shadow stood up. With greater speed than she knew she possessed, Belle picked up the heavy broadsword from the suit of armor and brandished it with both hands. Though still on the weaker side, she found she could hold it firmly and steadily without quivering, her months of caretaking-fetching water buckets, tugging at curtains, and bustling back and forth-having given her more strength than a simple lady. She kept the image of Gaston and his posture in a fight in her mind's eye, and she had just determined she could slice the cords holding the chandelier overhead when a thin, raspy voice panted, "Going to slay the beast, dearie?"  
  
Belle dropped the sword in astonishment before pitching herself forward in a run just as Rumpelstiltskin's knee buckled beneath him, hardly catching himself on the edge of the table. He was just a black shadow in the darkness, but she made out the shiny scales of his coat. His grappled for Belle with one hand, his other arm held tight about his middle, and he immediately took to leaning on her when she slipped beneath his arm.  
  
"I could've killed you, what were you thinking?" Belle cried in alarm, huffing as she took his weight. Her master was slight, but beneath his sodden layers of leather and waterlogged dragon scales, he might as well have been the size and girth of Gaston in full armor.  
  
"The day your constitution proves fearsome enough to be the demise of any soul is one I await with bated breath, little maid," Rumpelstiltskin bit out nastily, but when he took a step forward, his body recoiled from the pressure and a shivering whine escaped from the back of his throat.  
  
"Your leg." His knee was weak, she could tell, but he barely seemed able to put any pressure on his ankle. "You're wounded?"  
  
"Hardly," he tried to scoff, but it came out as another watery pant, and Belle rolled her eyes, tucking her head beneath his collar.  
  
"Can't you...appear in bed or somewhere that I might take care of it?" Belle wondered why he couldn't simply heal himself with magic, but in such a black mood as he was in, she dare not poke the dragon.  
  
"Not quite yet," Rumpelstiltskin panted softly, and for one long moment, he rested his forehead against Belle's temple, his wet hair clinging to her cheeks. The sudden tenderness unnerved Belle, though she feared more of disrupting and questioning it than anything.  
  
The gentle, cooing was what startled Belle back into reality, jolting Rumpelstiltskin enough that she pulled away from him, blanching, "What was that?"  
  
It had come from beneath his coat, which he now found more bundled about him and too bulky than how the normally slim fitted garment cut his figure. Rumpelstiltskin looked at her for a moment as if he were afraid before casting an eye down and opening his coat where his arm cradled his middle so tightly.  
  
There, tucked tightly against the leather jerkin and laces was cradled a little child, swathed in a thick burlap sash that her master had tied about his shoulder to keep the babe close to his chest. The baby was asleep, making noises in its dreams, and seemed only just days old.  
  
Belle stared blankly, dumbfounded until Rumpelstiltskin met her eyes once more, lips pressed in a hard, thin line. "I mustn't use magic with her so close. Take her."  
  
"Her?" A ridiculous thing to say, Belle knew. The most absurd thing to yet happen in her new life, but it seemed so much more strange to think of the babe sleeping in the Dark One's arms as a delicate little girl. Though the tales often told of the Dark One trading away children in the night, Belle had just thought those were stories, not-  
  
"Now!" Rumpelstiltskin barked, his arms trembling under the strain of holding himself up. Stepping close, Belle slid her arms up around him to untie the sash before slipping the baby into her arms, gulping when her master slid down painfully to land on his backside in a wet heap of leather and scales. Breathless, after a few long, quiet moments, he bowed his forehead into his palm and murmured, "Thank you."  
  
The child had pale, petal soft skin and chubby cheeks, sweet as a pea. With a light dusting of golden hair, Belle thought she was beautiful, so far as babies went, and tucked the rough blanket around her closer, fearing she would catch a cold. Her experience with children was few and far between, but she had always enjoyed the little ones in the village, especially when they would ask for a story on market day. Looking up, Belle bit her lip, stepping closer to where Rumpelstiltskin sat ponderously, asking, "What's her name?"  
  
Rumpelstiltskin rolled his hand over his forehead as if it were hurting him, before he half glanced up, drowsy in his weakness. “Why do you need to know?” he muttered, drawing each word out so they slithered.  
  
Huffing, Belle wrinkled her nose and said, “Well I need something to call her by. Names mean something, after all.”  
  
The Dark One’s eyes flickered up to Belle’s face, widening just slightly as if realizing that he was talking to Belle and not just any silly maid. Letting his head fall back with a dull thud against the table, he sighed, "Rapunzel."  
  
Tilting her head, his caretaker looked down at the little one, fidgeting with the blanket and asked, “Like the vegetable?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin snorted, “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, no one steals from me without receiving their comeuppance.”  
  
Belle stared at Rumpelstiltskin in horror, a cold dread settling heavy in her heart. She knew her master could be cruel, mocking, vile, and loathsome, but never had she truly thought he could be evil. Her short time in his home had assured her he was not as wicked as he seemed, but the thought that he could snatch a child as a payment left her feeling ill. “But she’s a person,” Belle whispered, her hoarse voice quickly gaining earnest when he wouldn’t look at her. “A person! You cannot barter a person!”  
  
Like the strike of a snake, Rumpelstiltskin threw himself to his feet, nearly stumbling in his approach at her, baring his teeth and his eyes flashing like hawk’s, growling low and deep, “You speak out of turn to me, mistress.”  
  
Swallowing thickly, the maid shifted the baby in her arms, but she did not step away. Instead, she leveled her chin and took a deep breath. “If I’m to be party to this monstrosity, you should at least tell me what happened.”  
  
The sorcerer narrowed his eyes dangerously, and for a moment, Belle was sure he was going to turn her into some creeping, crawling critter to grind beneath his boot. But then his nose twitched and his lips twisted into a sorrowful kind of smile, a high pitched giggle escaping him more like a cry than a sound of mirth. “Her mother was reckless, and her father a fool,” he paused, turning his face away from Belle and limping towards the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall. Each word was a huff, a strain. “Her father dealt her away like trading at market when I found he’d stolen from me.”  
  
“What did he steal?” Belle asked softly, following her master as he climbed to the great doors of the hall. He limped the whole way to the fireside, collapsing into the armchair where she’d been with a noisy sigh.  
  
“From my garden,” the sorcerer said, glaring at the crackling fire, his voice a mere mutter. “A desperate husband trying to please his wife, the fool didn’t even think to ask. Had he, he’d know that the only fruits that grow here,” he pointed a dark nailed finger to the floor, shooting a treacherous look at Belle, who stood, damp and shaking near the fire. “Are poisonous.”  
  
“P-Poisonous...” Belle looked down at the baby worriedly, but Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand.  
  
“The babe is unharmed. Her father has learned his lesson in bartering away precious things. The birth took the mother,” Rumpelstiltskin paused, his unsettling eyes flickering from his hands to Belle. “A lesson learned enough for both of them, I should say.”  
  
“You named her after the very thing that killed her mother,” Belle whispered, flinching at the choked, dry sound Rumpelstiltskin made when he threaded his fingers across his chest, leaning back in the chair and stretching his boots out toward the fire.  
  
When he finally raised his eyes to her, bloodshot and haggard. “I named her after the very thing that saved her, dearie,” he whispered, his eyes falling almost hungrily to the baby at Belle’s breast. Belle looked to the sleeping child too, watching how the firelight danced at the crown of the baby’s head, her hair glowing softly. “Magic.”


	2. The Deadly Trade

Belle woke up that very morning with a throbbing ache behind her eyes and an uncomfortable cramp in the back of her neck. Blinking against the bright sunlight pouring into her bedroom windows, she groaned aloud, rubbing the back of her head as she sat up on the royal blue velvet cushioned bench of the window seat, her thin blanket twisted about her body. Her bones protested as she swung her legs aside, squinting painfully at the rest of the room.  
  
Recalling the night’s events was a bit of a haze and not unlike struggling to remember a less than pleasant dream. Troubling, but not a nightmare-a puzzle to be worked out. It came back to her in full force when she caught sight of her occupied bed.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had seen to give her a room of her own when she proved too persistent in her own good cheer to let cobwebs and shadows rule her attitude. So instead of his dungeon, he gave her a room near the east that overlooked the mountains and a voluminous herb and vegetable garden. Belle had seen the sorcerer, in the late evenings when the fireflies danced or in the early dawn when the dew sparkled like diamonds in the grass, picking and prodding amongst the roots for whatever he might need for his next egregious concoction. Glancing over her shoulder down the several stories beneath, she couldn’t imagine anyone fool enough to attempt to find anything in the mess that was the garden. Plants overflowed like a frothy green sea, speckled with the tiniest blossoms not meant for aesthetics and fragrant enough that if Belle were to open her window, she knew she would be able to smell all kinds of scents-rosemary, witchhazel, wormroot, and even one particularly beautiful rose bush.  
  
Belle had asked to pick one, once, and only received a stony glare and an irritable grunt of warning. Later, when her master was better soothed with a mug of honeyed beer and a pipe between his teeth did he elaborate that she was allowed to pick from anything in the gardens on the rest of the castle grounds, except for the ones beneath her windows. Those were only ever for his tower, his potions and poisons and magic.  
  
Now, staring at her bed, Belle realized the impact of Rumpelstiltskin’s warning, for the poor souls fool enough to steal from that very same bit of earth were all but gone, having left a pink, perfect babe without a love in the world.  
  
While Belle enjoyed children well enough, she wasn’t comfortable around them. Approaching her bed as quietly as possible, too afraid even to breathe, she peered across the creamy quilts at the sleeping child. The maid had laid her right in the middle of the bed, on her back, securing three fluffy pillows on either side and behind her body so she couldn’t roll away, and then tucking her own downy blanket around her to keep her warm. In the light of day, her overzealous attempt to keep the child secure seemed exuberant, but she also blamed Rumpelstiltskin.  
  
When he’d told her that she would be the one to care for the little girl, she’d nearly dropped the baby on the floor in astonishment.  
  
“You can’t be serious. I can barely take care of _you_ as it is, in addition to the castle, and now you give me guardianship of a babe I have no relation to?” Belle’s voice was bordering on shrill, but with the cold rain still fresh on her skin and the little girl snugly tucked in her arms, her patience had been tried enough for one night.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin kneaded his forehead with his knuckles, leaning heavily on his elbow. The footstool had moved for him so that he could elevate his boots closer to the fire, and he looked positively small in the well of the overstuffed burgundy velvet chair he favored so much. Eyes closed, he drew each word out slowly as if talking to someone hard of hearing, “Your title, mistress, is caretaker. So I expect you to _take care_.”  
  
“That’s not half as clever as you think it is,” Belle replied sourly, narrowing her eyes as she forwent decency for pragmatism, sitting nearer the fire to ward off the chill that a sopping nightdress would bring. She shifted until the baby’s head was cradled in the crook of her arm, but she was growing weary of holding her up, even as small as she was.  
  
Knowing her master watched her, Belle ignored him and instead rearranged herself so she sat with her legs crossed at the ankles. It still wasn’t comfortable, but she was able to lay the child in her lap more comfortably and ease her back against the side of the fireplace, finally warm and resting her arms again. She looked at the sorcerer once more, feeling a rising defiance, but Rumpelstiltskin had taken to simply watching her, his face clear of any particular emotion, save for interest, cradling his chin in his palm.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing,” he answered immediately, pressing his lips into a firm line as if resisting one of his nasty smiles. His eyes glittered darkly against the shadows of the firelight, his voice deepened by his own weariness. “I just enjoy watching you adjust to your sad, sorry little life, mistress. Usually-” he paused, touching his collar with a mocking flourish. “In my line of work, I raise ladies to princesses and queens. It’s not often I get the chance to see them go the other path-from ballgowns to scullery skirts, on hands and knees and learning the deadly trade of adjusting.”  
  
Oh, how she wanted to bare her teeth at him then, but in the excitement of the night, Belle’s own drowsiness was cooling her anger and leaving her indifferent. Glancing down at the baby, she shrugged one shoulder, smiling slightly. “I’ve never claimed to be a lady, sir, but let it be known that I have always been able to adjust.”  
  
Now, looking down at the little girl in the brightness of the new morning, Belle wasn’t half as confident. Instead of waking her, the maid stole away from the bed and hurried to wash and dress, doing everything with perilous care and absolute quiet. By the time Belle was fastening her shoes, she heard a gentle whimpering from the nest of pillows on her bed. Before she could stand up, it grew into an insistent cry.  
  
“Oh...” Belle picked up the child, trying to shush her as best she’d seen mothers in the village do by patting her back and swinging her from side to side, but the baby just continued to cry, her face pinching and going red. Tears began to puddle in her eyes before Belle even thought of looking for help, so great was her increasing worry on what to do. The little thing would be hungry, of course, and she expected that it would need clothes and toys, and an all manner of things she neither possessed nor knew how to obtain.  
  
With a frown, Belle held the little girl close against her chest, muffling the cries into her shoulder and set off from her room at a march toward the west wing’s tower. When she neared the top of the stairs where she suspected Rumpelstiltskin was hiding, she beat on the old oak door with her fist.  
  
The loud, jolting noise startled the baby, and her crying turned from a simple fussing into a high pitched squealing scream. When she didn’t earn any response from the old sorcerer, she shoved the door open and huffed her way inside. He was crouched over a steaming vial of bright turquoise liquid, holding a hair of something between pinchers, his eye magnified to an uncanny size behind a looking glass that aided him in precision. He completely ignored Belle and the child when they entered until he’d dropped the hair in, watching as the liquid fizzed and bubbled from blue to lavender.  
  
The crying finally grew into a wail, even earning Belle’s own cringing, and finally the Dark One tossed his pincers aside with an irate growl, glowering in their direction. “Off to a dazzling start down the road of motherhood, I see,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.  
  
“I think she’s hungry,” Belle said finally, her concern for the child overriding her annoyance with the master of the castle and softening her voice with worry rather than bite. She moved the baby gently in her arm, glancing between them with no little amount of desperation. “You haven’t given me anything for her. I don’t know what I’m doing!”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin stood warily behind his workbench as if afraid the baby might leap out and latch onto him, his hands knotting in front of him as his gaze watched the child before glancing, unblinkingly, at Belle. Finally he stepped around the room to stand in front of them, a muscle in his cheek twitching at the agonizing wail of the baby. Before Belle could say anything, the Dark One stood toe to toe with her and popped his knuckle into the baby’s mouth, immediately earning them reprieve.  
  
“That’s not-”  
  
“A trick,” Rumpelstiltskin assured her, winking not unkindly as he looked from the baby down into Belle’s face, his voice reverently hushed. “You should remember it, for when her teeth come in.”  
  
“That’s not for a while though,” Belle said, shaking her head before pausing, her eyes widening in sudden worry. “Isn’t it?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth, his eyes warmer than she could remember ever seeing them, as if he might smile. Without taking his knuckle from the baby’s mouth, he turned Belle around and led her wordlessly down the stairs and out of the tower, murmuring something about nasty fumes. “There are linens that can clothe the babe that you will find in the bedroom nearest the library in an old chest kept stored away in the back. Perhaps a little big for her, but I’m sure they’ll do the job well enough.”  
  
“But she’s hungry,” Belle worried, looking down at the little girl who was beginning to whimper, realizing that Rumpelstiltskin’s pebbly green finger was not, in fact, a source of nourishment. “What do I feed her?”  
  
“There is goat’s milk in the larder. Soak a cloth and let her suckle on it,” the sorcerer murmured as they reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes were on the baby now, tilting his head as he watched her smack her lips at his knobby knuckle. “I will make arrangements for the future, otherwise that should tide her over for a few hours.”  
  
“Al-alright,” Belle bit her lip, glancing down nervously at the growing tension in the baby’s face. Rumpelstiltskin fluttered his fingers in dismissal at her, and Belle turned on her heel, hurrying away to the kitchens on the ground floor.   
  
It was always warmer in the kitchen, the fire that never went out keeping it cheerful and homey in the cozy space. After finding one of the clean cloths she’d pulled from the laundry room, Belle hurried to fetch the milk jug from the larder and did just as Rumpelstiltskin said, dipping half in gently, letting it soak, and then rolling the tip so it was just narrow enough for the child. Sitting quickly down by the fire just as the little girl began to cry, Belle hushed her fruitlessly before leading the tip of the cloth between the babe’s lips.  
  
Immediately, a wet suckling sound filled the air, along with the crackling fire, and Belle found herself relaxing back into the chair. An anxious, nearly hysterical laugh burst from her chest tightly, and she grinned down at her success, moving the cloth every now and then so the baby could get the milk from the fabric.  
  
“We’re fine now,” Belle whispered, to herself as much as the little Rapunzel, rubbing the child’s tiny foot between her fingers, feeling the delicate, smooth skin of innocence. “Everything will be fine.”


	3. Not Kindness

Priding herself on her cleverness, Belle didn’t want to give the Dark One the satisfaction at seeing her fail at something that was most likely considered relatively easy. Still, standing over the baby girl laid before her, she huffed, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the poorly folded cloth. She’d never wrapped or clothed a child before, never having an opportunity to see it done. In her own rank and station, Belle would never even need to. A maid or nurse would have done it for her. Now, far from home and that life that would have been, she was faced with the obstacle of attempting to pin the cloth around the baby’s bottom without pinching or poking her, and making sure that it was tight enough to hold. So far, each time Belle attempted it, the cloth would simply unravel and slip down the baby’s legs.  
  
“You move too much,” Belle complained, hands on her hips as she turned and looked around the rest of the room. It hadn’t been hard to find the bedroom nearest the library, though it had been quite difficult to get inside. It was cluttered with all manner of things-furniture, chests, bundles and heaps of bound spun gold, and what Belle supposed was the rest of Rumpelstiltskin’s collection, for none of the trinkets seemed related to each other. In one corner she found a hauntingly beautiful white harp made with silver cord, polished to a shine. Against the far wall, over three trunks, she found a mirror, oval shaped and accented with golden cherubs, three feet taller than Belle and nearly four times her width. When she’d pulled the covering from it, she felt a cold tingling race up her back.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had told her to keep the mirrors covered, but she hadn’t known it was a mirror until she’d pulled the sheet away. Now, looking at the massive girth, she had no idea how to go about covering it once more.   
  
The baby lay on her side in an amply cushioned throne that sat near the middle of the room, all golden framework and blood red velvet fabric, watching Belle with wide eyes. She was still too fearful of her rolling and falling off, so she continued to find places that would safely cradle her when Belle was busy with her hands.  
  
Kneeling at the chest where she’d retrieved the cloths, she shuffled through the other linens until she came to the bottom, surprised to find real clothes. They were threadbare and worn, but soft. Pulling them out, Belle held them up and was surprised at how small they were. Too big for a baby, but perhaps a young child. Frowning, Belle folded them and put them back, shuffling through the chest and finding only a creamy lambswool blanket. She pulled it out, smiling and wrapped the little girl in it snugly, tucking and folding until she looked like a sweet pea pod.   
  
“There,” Belle declared happily, grinning down at the child who blinked dumbly at her before snuffling out a yawn. For all her enthusiasm in her triumph, the little Rapunzel girl did not appear to be as taken with Belle.

Picking up the baby, Belle hurried out of the dark, dusty room, closing the door firmly behind her. Clean and fed, the child began to grow drowsy and was asleep by the time Belle made it back to her room. She placed her in the well of pillows once more, biting her lip as she sneaked out without so much as letting the latch of the door make a noise.   
  
With a quick, sharp brush of her hands against her skirts, Belle felt relieved to have her arms free once again, and she set her mind to her tasks for the day that included beginning a stew that would simmer until eventide, sweeping the foyer, and cleaning the glass to the cabinet of Rumpelstiltskin’s collection in the great hall. Her mind was busy organizing her thoughts as she hastened to the kitchen, wondering how much time she would have to herself before the little one awoke again.  
  
Belle had no experience with babies. She’d seen them rarely, as most people in the village tended to keep them inside their homes, and there had never been any, other than herself, in her father’s house. On the whole, she was ambivalent to them, and her current charge wasn’t exactly swaying her on the matter. Babies were demanding and insistent, and she couldn’t imagine being able to devote her entire life to that whole other presence that depended upon her so. Not to mention the stress of keeping another individual safe, fed, clothed, and happy!  
  
She supposed woes of childhood lessened as they grew up and could fend more for themselves, but it was all about surviving those first few years, wasn’t it? Children had always been in her future, she’d known for a long time, since she began to change from child to girl to woman. As a knight’s daughter, she’d be expected to marry well and breed well, but she had refused to give it much thought beyond that, simply to save herself from the inevitable wall being built of a life she didn’t even know she wanted.  
  
Setting about the chore of cooking felt more industrious. It was a simple task, a garden stew, and it made Belle feel more confident in her station as a caretaker as she chopped vegetables and boiled water, losing herself in the menial routine of it. As the tension unwound from her neck and shoulders, though, her mind strayed back to the sleeping little girl upstairs, and the questions of _how_ and _why_. If she was unsure of a child’s place, of how she could ever handle it, what then could Rumpelstiltskin possibly hope to keep her for?  
  
Belle realized she had not even thought to ask.  
  
Securing the pot upon the old cast iron stove that hadn’t been used once until Belle had arrived, the caretaker bustled from the kitchens and up the stone steps, climbing her way through the dusty castle. Passing the ominously deserted west wing, she neared her bedroom door and put her ear to the wood, listening for any noise. When she heard nothing but the turbulent mountain wind beyond the windows, she moved on to the closet where the broom was stored and took herself with a much lighter step back across the castle.   
  
She did not seek out Rumpelstiltskin, nor would she. There was always something forbidding about his presence when she tried to go to him, tried to look to him for company or questions. His staunch shoulders and twitching sneer were message enough to Belle that he wished not for her pleasantries, and while she did feel more lonely than she could truly express, she didn’t mind not having to entertain him. She supposed there were worse deals made, the alternatives to fetching and carrying.  
  
Pausing as she opened the great hall’s door to the foyer, she remembered those two times he was... open. Not quite kind, for the barbarous glint never truly died from his eyes when he looked at her, as thorny as his mockery and gleeful contempt, but the first night she’d come to the castle, not so long ago, he’d surprised her after she’d chipped his cup by deferring her return to the dungeon and instead leading her to the small, cozy bedroom near the eastern corner of the castle. It overlooked the black lake of his grounds and the dark forest that swept up to the edge of the mountains.  
  
Taken aback by the elaborately carved wooden bed, the roaring fire and the luxurious furnishings more suited to a princess, Belle had faced him with bafflement. “These aren’t servant’s quarters.” She winced a little at how reprimanding the phrase sounded to her ears. She was scolding the _Dark One_ for being generous!  
  
Rumpelstiltskin blinked, wide-eyed with his hands behind his back as if she’d spoken another language, but he didn’t seem scornful in the face of her confusion. Instead, he glanced around the room as if he’d never truly been there ( perhaps he hadn’t, for the castle had hundreds of rooms very similar). “Astutely observed,” he said airily, and at Belle’s blush, he wrinkled his nose with a smirk. “But you see, the servants quarters are close to the dungeon, and I forgot that someone else is kept down there...someone you shan’t go near. So I thought best to remove the temptation.”  
  
Instantly, Belle’s curiosity was piqued, and she tilted her head. “Someone else?”  
  
Turning on his heel, Rumpelstiltskin lowered his chin conspiratorially, but his eyes were dark and Belle could sense the warning in his guard as he whispering, “Some _thing_ else. Dream well, dearie.”  
  
Watching after him, Belle called out before she was aware she was doing it, haltingly saying, “Th-Thank you.”  
  
If there was hesitation in the imp’s step, Belle would only ever remember it as a trick of her eyes.  
  
Aside from a desk stocked with stationary and the implements to write with them, Belle also found a wardrobe that housed several dresses and gowns. Plain but fine things, her dressing gown among them. She’d at first been thought that they belonged to another, but if that were true she suspected they would’ve been done away with, or perhaps become moth-eaten. The room itself had not been frequented in a long time from the looks of the dusty path she and Rumpelstiltskin had trekked down the hall. Either way, the clothes shouldn’t have fit, yet when she pulled them out, one by one, sliding them over her head and pushing her arms through the sleeves, she found that they not only fit but formed to her shape as if made for her, hems falling just right and laces tying and fastening just so.  
  
When she met Rumpelstiltskin the next day, having put herself in a warm brown dress with a creamy blouse beneath, that had been the second time he’d ever smiled at her without spite. It was not kindness, never kindness, but it was... pleasure. Yes, that was the look he wore when she walked into the great hall, tea tray in hands.   
  
“I hope you don’t intend to bemoan your loss of finery,” Rumpelstiltskin said as he took his cup from the tray to fill it while she set aside the saucers. There was still that mocking satisfaction, the smug knowingness that irritated her, but glancing up beneath her lashes, she saw that around his eyes he’d grown softer, taking in the little pearl of her gold necklace that hung sweetly over her collar. He’d meant for it to sound harsher than it came out. “Hard to mop and dust in silk,” he added with a quick swallow of tea that Belle knew must have scalded his throat.  
  
“I took from the wardrobe. I hope you don’t mind,” she said uncertainly, passing him a plate of bread she’d found in the kitchens, baked with nuts. Biting her lip, she stole another glance at him and saw how he licked his bottom lip quickly, tearing his eyes away from her.   
  
“It is your room,” the sorcerer breezed, waving his hand as he turned to cross to his spinning wheel with his cup and plate. “Take what you like, and everything in it. It’s nothing to do with me.”  
  
As she swept the foyer, dust and dirt piles dotting near the polished mahogany table at the center, she wondered if he suspected she would grow used to this life. He certainly seemed to enjoy her naivety in the face of magic and her confusion over how to make candles or clean silver or, _gods above_ , launder leather. She could imagine that was why he brought the babe back to the castle with him. Can’t have the caretaker getting her footing, after all.  
  
The authenticity of the idea, that it could come from Rumpelstiltskin, made a laugh bubble from Belle before she could stop it. Where she expected more agitation, the idea that he found silly enjoyment in bothering her was indescribably amusing. In that, he was boyish, wanting attention childishly, and he resembled nothing of the prancing, giggling beast who’d stolen her away under cover of night from her father’s arm.  
  
It took Belle an hour before she swept the collected dust and dirt out the front doors into the greying daylight and was able to gather herself and make the hike back across the castle. As she shut up the cupboard, she still felt that same lightness in her chest as she made her way back to the great hall, which had been empty before. Now, as she entered humbly, Rumpelstiltskin sat upon his stool in front of his spinning wheel, his eyes cast down at the fibre he was working between his fingertips. He remained concentrated and unaffected by Belle as she set about polishing the glass panes of the cabinet. With her back to him, she felt vulnerable, and strangely watched, though the steady creak of the wheel never broke pace.  
  
The gentle swipes with her cloth at the glass was a dull affair and gave her the freedom of thought. She was drawn back to that cluttered dusty room near the library, the old relics and odd assortment of items from the chilly white harp to the overbearing ornate mirror flickering through her memories for reasons she couldn’t name. His collection on the whole was both alluring and disturbing. The shined bow, the glittering chalice, the rustic lamp were all wonders she’d looked over with interest, yet the unnervingly watchful puppets, the human hand, and other unsettling displays had her quickening her pace to leave the hall. She wondered how large his collection truly was, and if she was considered part of it. Was little Rapunzel, for that matter? Wrinkling her nose, Belle wasn’t sure she enjoyed that train of thought. She was on her third row of glass panes before she stopped and stared at her reflection looking back at her.  
  
“How long do babies sleep?” she asked quietly, her face tilted to the side over her shoulder and not quite looking at the imp.  
  
The creaking wheel paused, and from his shadowy corner, Belle felt hunted. The great hall was ever dark, curtains pinned in place and firmly shut with only select candelabras lit to accompany the firelight, and knowing that Rumpelstiltskin was somewhere amongst those shadows made her uneasy. When he spoke, his voice was from near behind, but it was gentle as if he was purposefully trying not to frighten her.  
  
“As young as the little one is, I wouldn’t say more than a handful of hours at a time.” His tone was light, thoughtful, and when Belle turned around she found him standing near the end of the long mahogany table, fiddling with the lace cuffs of his silken shirt. His eyes weren’t quite focused on her face, more about her neck or her shoulder, and it made it a little easier to talk to him, standing so close by. “You...” Rumpelstiltskin’s face tightened, choosing his words with care, or perhaps struggling to find the right ones. “...you have...found what you need?”  
  
“I think so,” Belle said quietly, just as timid as he. “For now, at least, but...”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
When Belle looked up at him, finding his eyes wide and unblinking, for the moment he was open again. In a strange way, he seemed hopeful too, as Belle twisted her rag between her hands, and terribly curious. There was nothing left of the mocking monster she’d seen before, and she felt a tired little smile of relief pull at her lips, lifting his cheek as she let her arms drop with a delicate shrug.  
  
“I think she should at least have a cradle. She doesn’t have anywhere to sleep,” Belle paused, furrowing her eyebrows. “Or I don’t.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin blinked for the briefest moment in puzzlement, his hands twisting in front of him into some semblance of stillness before he smiled, another look of a pleasure, the same as before. “Your bed is too small for a slip of a girl and that mite? I’ve seen you battle dust bunnies bigger than her, at that.”  
  
Belle swatted his arm with her rag, giving a snort of amusement. “I’m afraid I’ll roll and squish her, that’s all!”  
  
The sorcerer made a brief sound of acknowledgement and amusement at the back of his throat, his eyes following her hand that held the rag fall back to her side. Nodding in satisfaction, he dared to reach out and touch her lightly on the back of her shoulder with two fingers, turning her to the door. “Let’s go see if we can find a bed for the little bug, then.”


	4. Spells and Charms

Sunshine poured into the tower where Rumpelstiltskin kept his work, and he’d even opened the windows with a lazy wave of his hand to let the warm breeze wash the icy chill out of the rafters. Never having been allowed more than a handful of minutes at a time to do some menial dusting and sweeping in the tower, Belle’s eyes drank in the limitless ceiling, the towering bookshelves, and the cluttered tables sporting glass vials and jars filled with shimmering liquids and dark substances. The tables were all pushed back from their usual posts, Belle could see, from the evidence of the stones being darker and newer where the legs had stood and-presumably-had never been moved from.

That day, though, Rumpelstiltskin himself had moved them, whether by magic or hand, all save for one, which he had cleared with a wave of his arm. The clutter had disappeared as if he’d just waved away smoke, and in it’s place was an assortment of freshly cut blocks of wood. He procured another stool, leaving Belle to fetch the one that accompanied his spinning wheel. She sat primly, balancing the little child in her lap, and watched with wide and curious eyes as the Dark One set about crafting.

Perhaps time had gotten away from her while she’d been employed by the Dark One, for Belle felt a piercing nostalgia to see someone work with their own two hands instead of using magic. It was a novelty to watch in quiet appreciation as Rumpelstiltskin did the most banal things-tying an apron (she would have giggled had she not been so struck with interest), sanding wood, taking a saw to the longer pieces. The sawdust snowed upon the floor and over his boots, another shade of gold that Belle admired against the tooled leather of his clothes. The scent was sweeter than anything she could remember, and she blinked rapidly at the sting of tears over the long-suppressed ache of her home, of simpler people and times.

Fearing the tears would truly begin to fall if she let her mind continue to wander, Belle swallowed hard and secured the baby in her lap more snugly against her, asking, “You’re...making a cradle?”

Rumpelstiltskin paused in his proceedings, glancing at her before looking back down at the wood he was measuring with the flat of his palm. Belle hoped he didn’t notice the change in her tone or hear the tightness of her throat, and she started to become self-conscious that her feelings were showing until he answered with a hesitant, “Yes.”

He sounded strangely sheepish, as if she were judging him. Arching an eyebrow, Belle hooked the dainty heels of her shoes on the low rung of her stool, wrapping her arm around the little one who plopped her head back against her chest. She was not yet old enough to hold her head up, and Belle kept her support so she could enjoy looking around the room. “It’s just that-I supposed it would be easier to make one by magic,” she said gently, watching the great cloud of sawdust billow up into the air when the plank of wood the sorcerer sawed off hit the floor at his feet.

“An ordinary crib would be,” he agreed lightly, seeming neither impatient with her questioning nor frustrated with the lack of silence. She knew he preferred the quiet when he was at his spinning, but if that rule extended to other projects, he had not mentioned it. He began to fit some of the pieces he’d worked together, and Belle watched as a base and bare frame began to take form before her. It was a little thing, small enough to fit on Belle’s vanity in her room, and she looked down at the baby questioningly to gage her size. At her look of doubt, Rumpelstiltskin chuckled.

“So… it’s a magical crib,” Belle surmised, proud of herself when the sorcerer couldn’t withhold his little smile of approval. She hadn’t seen him so relaxed before, his posture practically melting into his movements as he switched his tools. “You can’t procure a magical crib with magic?”

“Are the Dark One’s techniques questioned?” Rumpelstiltskin asked with a flourish in his voice, tossing his hair to the side as he looked up at her, kneeling to retrieve the wood that had fallen to the floor. He narrowed his eyes but in play, the humor remaining light, and Belle bit on her own smile, feeling her face flush.

“Only curious,” she replied innocently.

He snorted and turned back to the project. His fingers and hands moved deftly, surely, and Belle was sure he was using some kind of magic to have the pieces assorted so quickly. But before he began to attach them together, he took a long flat panel of the finely shaped and sanded wood and sat back on his own stool. He twirled his fingers over the pouch of tools unrolled upon the table before he extracted a chisel and knife. Turning his head to one side and squinting, the sorcerer held the chisel and began to chip away curly flakes of wood. The tools seemed too bulky for his graceful hands, but he worked with them as talentedly as he did his straw and gold.

After a long moment of quiet, he finally spoke in a voice that was tempered with concentration. “Any witch or wizard can place a spell or charm on a thing. It’s not so difficult.” He paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and his eyes never leaving his work. Belle stared as he dusted the panel of wood from some more shavings. “But just as easily, those spells and charms can be broken. Or worse, they can be turned into something…not so nice.”

Sensing mischief in his words, Belle smoothed the top of the little one’s pale head, admiring the slight golden dust of hair she had, and thought about his words. She couldn’t imagine ever trying to cast a spell or use magic of any kind, and for the few weeks she had been living with Rumpelstiltskin, the only magic she had witnessed was charms for practicality-lighting candles and fires with a wave of his hand, procuring books from the top of shelves, fetching food, and the like. She supposed there was magic at work within the very walls that she was not privy to the knowledge of, but if she thought on such things for too long, she’d break out in gooseflesh and feel eyes upon her from the shadows.

“So it’s different if you do it yourself,” Belle finally said.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, pleased with her answer. He brushed more shavings away and continued to chisel and whittling, worrying his wrist to dig the tool further into the wood. “This way, you see, I can work the magic into the very wood itself, rather than just around it, or on top of it,” he paused, glancing up not at Belle, but the baby. “Precious cargo such as her, dearie, must be protected at all costs.”

That made sense, Belle supposed, and she certainly couldn’t balk at Rumpelstiltskin’s choice. For the short time she had known him, he was nothing if not particular in all things-things that mattered. Doing things his own way and to his own liking appeared as a way he could personalize his very existence into the lives of others. Thinking on her own deal she had struck with him, he had come to them in person, had named his terms and rejected those drawn up for him.

No, to this man, everything was a transaction, a deal, a bargain. If he didn’t make the effort on his terms in his own way, Belle supposed he knew he would never see the fruits of his labor as he wanted them. If he made the deal, he could construct a trap with no escape-unless it was for himself.

“Such dark thoughts,” his voice broke her reverie, causing Belle to jump in her seat. Her heart constricted in her chest for a moment, terror seizing her at the idea he could see into her mind, but he glanced up at her, squinting. “You look as if someone’s walked over your grave, little maid.”

“I was only wondering why…” Belle paused, frowning, and she was dimly aware that the chisel had also stopped in its ministrations. She could feel the sorcerer watching her, and steeled herself, pushing the words out through a steady voice. “I was only wondering why a baby would need magical protection.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers drummed mutely upon the panel of wood. “Doesn’t everyone enjoy the peace of mind of a child’s safety?”

The answer was a farce, and Belle could tell the moment the words dripped from his mouth with pure unfeeling and mockery. In truth, Belle didn’t mind his smarmy attitude towards ordinary people, but in the case of the little one, a blameless little thing who could not speak for her own, a fiery cord in her plucked like a tightened bow string, and she narrowed her eyes in displeasure. “I know well enough that you guard your castle. Or the castle guards itself, perhaps. What exactly would she need protection from, behind the walls of the Dark One?”

The memories of the night she’d been given the baby to hold for the first time were murky, like an unpleasant nightmare she couldn’t quite shake from her mind. The way Rumpelstiltskin had snarled and snapped, too weak to hold himself up, and the soft glow of the child’s hair near the fireplace. He had said magic had saved her, but he hadn’t said how.

At Rumpelstiltskin’s sudden disquiet, Belle narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but he ducked his head enough so that his hair shadowed his face. His voice was tender when she spoke, his hands moving over the wood reverently. “There’s a… spell for warmth, to keep the chill of the castle from her. A charm that will keep bugs or anything else that doesn’t belong in a cradle at bay,” he smiled, a broken, misshapen thing that was more grimace and sadness. “A protection to give her the sweetest of dreams in this dark place.”

Belle’s chest shuddered as she exhaled slowly, unaware when she had begun to hold her breath. The undeniable hurt behind Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes as he looked down at the cradle in his hands, as if he didn’t recognize it as his own work, tightened her throat with such strong emotion that her eyes began to sting once more. The sudden change left her dizzy with feeling.

Who was this man who could take lives with his bare hands in darkness with such malicious relish, and the very next day humble himself over dusty promises of a child’s dreams?

What _was_ he?

In the end, he became visibly disgruntled with his thoughts and shook his head, going back to whittling. Frowning down at his work, he muttered, “Where there’s magic, there’s room for mischief, and I’ll not have that if I can help it. And there’s magic enough in her. I’ll have to find it soon-” he paused, glancing at the baby again, watching as Belle’s arms tightened instinctively around the child. Belle noticed the change in his eyes, going from a gleam to a warmer pleasure before turning them on her. He smiled then, but it was so false in its kindness that it raised gooseflesh along her arms. “Run along now, dearie. I need to finish, and I’m quite sure you have plenty left to do in the day.”

Suppressing the urge to argue, Belle slipped from the stool, lifting the child in her arms to rest her head against her shoulder, and she scurried from the tower, before the sorcerer could change his mind. As she took the steps carefully down the winding staircase, her thoughts tripped back to the child’s parents. A fool of a father, Rumpelstiltskin had said, and a reckless mother. For the first time since he’d told her the tale, Belle wondered if it was the truth.

The old legends had spoken about the Dark One dealing with children, and she had often thought it a curious business. Her own governess had told her the stories to deter her from breaking rules, but Belle had not been frightened as a child of those tales. What would happen if she had been taken? Would she be in a maid’s arms, just as Rapunzel was? What made him choose a child-was it out of spite, such as this, or something colder? What did he do with the children that he supposedly bartered for?

Her mind wandered back to that quiet confession, though. Whatever his plan, he did not intend to hurt the little girl, and that calmed some of Belle’s fears. No, in that, she knew him to be true.

A small tug brought her attention back to the present. Rapunzel’s doughy little fist had a stray curl of Belle’s hair in her fingers, and Belle smiled, pressing her cheek gently against the child’s smooth head. A flutter in her heart like a feathery wing tickled all the way down to her belly when the baby sighed sweetly in her ear, and she hugged her tighter against her chest, stopping in the middle of the gloomy hallway shrouded in shadows and lit only with candles.

Affection was in her nature, and how she had missed it! The warmth of another person, the tickle of their breath in an embrace or the gentleness of a touch. Even in one so small, it was enough to make Belle’s heart sing, and without thinking, she pressed a kiss to the baby’s golden head, sniffling against her powdery skin, and was left feeling warm to the tips of her toes. “I’ll protect you, too, little one,” she said softly, her lips and nose still caressing the top of the baby’s head. Catching herself in the thought, she realized she was rocking back and forth, and closed her eyes, hugging the child close. “Even from him.”


	5. A Starry Mantle

Her initial hesitancy over looking after a child cleared when Belle realized that the sweet Rapunzel was actually quite a happy, content little thing. After leaving Rumpelstiltskin’s tower, they returned to the kitchen where Belle sat near the hearth, balancing the baby in her lap. She was able to mend three of Rumpelstiltskin’s shirts in one sitting since the lace cuffs and shiny buttons entertained the baby enough that Belle only had to pay mild attention to what she was doing. That was how the rest of their afternoon was spent, and soon Rapunzel began to squirm and whimper again, so Belle warmed the goat’s milk and soaked another cloth to feed her.

“What an appetite,” Belle murmured, smiling down at the wide blue-green eyes of the little one as she stared faithfully up at her guardian. Her face was rounded, pink and glowing, a bonnie of a babe that fit perfectly in Belle’s arms. She rocked the chair, squeezing at the cloth bit by bit to help Rapunzel suckle all of the milk. It was quiet and peaceful, and Belle was surprised to find her mind clear and untainted with worry.

It took her nearly half an hour to finish feeding, and near the end her eyes were rolling closed. Belle smirked and gently pulled the cloth away, extracting the baby’s fragile fingers, but that seemed to wake her up, and then she began to fuss.

“Oh, please don’t cry,” Belle muttered, frowning as she tried to bounce the little one. When that didn’t stave off the tearful whimpers, the former lord’s daughter shifted the child until she was laying against her shoulder, her little head rolling into the crook of Belle’s neck, and she patted her back soothingly, humming low in her chest.

The whimpers suddenly broke with a loud belch, and for a moment, Belle stood there, dumbfounded. But then the baby nuzzled and nestled close, a comforted sigh gusting against Belle’s neck, and it was all the maid could do not to burst out laughing, a wobbly smile quivering on her lips.

“Enjoying your new charge?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, and Belle turned from the kitchen fire to find him lounging in the doorway. He’d abandoned his coat and kerchief, and his vest was unbuttoned by two button holes. Arms crossed and leaning against the threshold, he seemed languid in his movements, and even his usual mockery was subdued somehow. Belle couldn’t say she didn’t like it.

“I...well, she-” Belle blushed, feeling silly. Instead of trying to explain, she just smiled and shook her head, continuing a gentle patting along the baby’s back. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. You might put her to bed now.”

“Already?” Belle raised her eyebrows, and Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head in a gesture for her to follow him. She tried her best to keep her movements smooth, to not bounce and jostle the little girl in her arms too much. She was close to being asleep if she wasn’t already, and she didn’t want to wake her up. Rumpelstiltskin, surprisingly, slowed his steps so that Belle could match him, and he threaded his hands behind his back, nodding sagely.

“Little ones sleep much more than you,” he paused, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Certainly more than me.”

“How much do you sleep?” Belle asked curiously, resting her cheek against Rapunzel’s soft head, but the Dark One didn’t deign to answer her.

“Is she feeding?” he asked instead, and when they came to the staircase, he put a hand on her lower back to steady her as they walked up. Belle found herself grateful for the contact.

“Yes,” Belle huffed by the time they reached the top. The baby wasn’t quite so heavy, but carrying her all day and then up and down stairs did begin to tire her. Belle’s apartment was on the third floor of the castle where the estate family would have lived, so three sets of stairs had her breathless by the time they made it to the top. “I didn’t know babies could eat so much. Or so often.”

Rumpelstiltskin only nodded, strangely quiet. Belle was about to ask if he was alright, but something stopped her, a sense of unease that he was not himself. He was never so quiet or withdrawn, usually at least taking a chance to mock or threaten her. Something was off, but she bit her tongue. There was a time and a place to approach him-she had discovered that much. Instead, she let him lead her to her bedroom where he waved the door open, and they disappeared inside.

“Oh.” All the air left her at the sight of the crib. She had nearly forgotten it after they had left him, but now it was finished, carved from a smooth golden pine with leafy vines creeping up the rungs and posts to bloom in daffodils. It was set on a lower platform than normal, and Belle realized belatedly that it meant she would be able to reach the baby easier-she was painfully short compared to most women, who had longer legs and arms. Belle swallowed hard at the thoughtfulness of its maker and blinked quickly.

The two end frames were carved into picturesque gardens, little animals like foxes and squirrels peeking from underneath leaves. Belle’s hand came to the back of the baby’s head before she turned to look at the sorcerer who stood behind her as if he were too shy to present his own work.

“This is beautiful, Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle murmured softly, smiling and feeling her throat tighten. He blinked wide eyes at her, flexing his hands at his sides and opening and closing his mouth as if he didn’t know what to say (and he probably didn’t). She looked away before he became too uncomfortable, and she stepped closer to lower the baby into the crib. There was a plush feather mattress made of white cotton, and then a silky rose coverlet at the bottom. Belle laid the baby down before fetching a fresh cloth and made quick, gentle work of changing her while she was so recumbent before tucking the blanket around her. When she straightened up, Rumpelstiltskin pulled the side of the crib up and secured it with a clasp off to the side. Belle made a note of that, and smiled when he glanced at her.

“One more thing.” He stepped around Belle, and hovered his hand just above the crib. Then, he flicked his fingers as if he were dusting with powdered sugar, and a deep black, blue, and violet smoke trickled from his fingers in a twirling, oily haze, hanging over the crib.

Belle had seen him perform simple spells, little magic tricks about the castle, but this was different. He was completely concentrated as the smoke began to thicken, flatten, and then suspend in the air above the crib, soft and floating. Peering closer, Belle could see Rumpelstiltskin’s golden thread sewn into little bunches along what appeared to be a canopy, shielding the crib from any bothersome light. It resembled a night sky, out of a fairy story, and Belle found herself enchanted, marveling at the small enchantment with a smile.

“It’s a custom, to hang a token or a totem over where a child sleeps,” Rumpelstiltskin finally murmured, and when Belle turned to look at him, something cold and painful filled her chest to see him so sad as he watched Rapunzel sleep. His hands came together in front of him, a hesitant, humble gesture born of nerves, long nailed fingers worrying the skin at his knuckles.

Slowly, Belle reached her hand over and touched his arm, smiling a little. He didn’t react to the touch. “It’s lovely,” she said, her voice soft, afraid if she spoke too loud he would spook. He wouldn’t look at her, so she felt safe to squeeze his arm. “Truly.”

At any other time, Belle would’ve found Rumpelstiltskin’s quiet contemplative air endearing and peaceful, but something about it-the stoop in his shoulders and the hollowness of his eyes made her remorseful.  It was in her nature to try to fix things-with affection, quiet reason, gentle understanding, yet whatever was hanging so heavily in his face gave her pause. She could not relieve it on her own any more than he could.

They stood in silence, watching the baby dream. Every few moments her little fist twitched and her lips puckered in a sweet sigh. The sorcerer sighed deeply, and Belle found herself smiling at him. Whatever darkness had blackened his thoughts, seeing his magic help the little one had cleared it for now. Belle could feel it, like a living thing, and she slid her fingers from his elbow down to his wrist, touching skin to skin.

Rumpelstiltskin jumped then, but Belle wordlessly led him out of her chambers. Magic shut the door behind them, making not a noise.

With a natural affinity, Belle regained a more companionable and respectable grip on the master of the house by sliding her arm through his, as if they were a true lord and lady, and they descended the stairs. His profile was shadowed by his hair, and Belle was beginning to grow wary of this silence.

“Dinner?” she asked, once they reached the doors of the grand hall.

Rumpelstiltskin slid his arm from her, his body twitching to do so. She was sure he hadn’t been touched in years. No one was so skittish or so frightfully unsure of human contact and affection unless they’d been denied it. It was for those reasons she wouldn’t let his flinch from her bother her.

“Yes, yes.” His high pitched dismissal had her watching him as he strode into the hall, all the way up to his spinning wheel. If he was more relaxed now, he still was not alright, and everything that encompassed her as a person-a small, innocent person that she was-called her to follow after him and comfort whatever his hurt.

Instead, Belle turned and walked to the kitchen. Dinner was a simple leek and potato soup, and she found some fresh white cheese in wax paper to grate and melt into the pot. It was a little plain to taste, but certainly edible, and she fit two bowls, a loaf of bread, a dish of butter, the tea pot, cups, saucers, and sugar bowl on the tray.

Halfway to the grand hall, Belle realized what a mistake that was.

By the time she made it to the table, her arms were trembling so violently, the china was rattling on the tray.

“Foolish,” Rumpelstiltskin groused, appearing in a mild whiff of purple smoke at her side from the spinning wheel. His hands laid over her own and eased the tray down to the table, and he frowned at her in displeasure. “Are you trying to break all my dinnerware on purpose?”

“I didn’t want to make two trips,” Belle huffed, leaning forward to serve him, but a short, smart smack on her hands had her pale eyes flaring at him.

“Sit down,” he muttered quietly, eyeing her shaky hands.

Belle continued to frown right back, but she took the seat to the right of the head of the table, and Rumpelstiltskin only then placed a bowl of soup in front of her. Once they were settled and well into their meal did Belle finally ascertain that he was back to his normal self. Spinning usually righted his foul or strange moods, and this time was no different.

So it was as good a time as any to poke the proverbial bear. She rested her spoon into the milky, golden broth to lean her weight on her elbows and lace her hands beneath her chin primly. “Rumpelstiltskin.”

He did not look up from eyeing a string of carrot on his spoon. “Mmm?”

“I have a list of things you need to procure,” Belle said, concealing a smile that threatened to bloom across her face at his thinned lips that enclosed around his spoon. His eyes were as round as their tea saucers when he paused to blink up at her, hunched over his bowl. Belle took advantage of his full mouth and continued, “For the baby, of course. I’ll need fabrics-cottons, silks, and lace. There are a few simple books I would like that should be easy enough to find that were printed some time ago by a tutor named Tilbot-I’m sure you know the name.” He had swallowed the soup, but now he was looking at her as if it had been a lemon instead. He narrowed his eyes. “And I would also like a goat.”

“What _are_ you going on about?”

“A goat, Rumpelstiltskin. The animal.”

“I’m familiar.  Why?”

“Because I don’t want to walk to town every other day if I can help it,” Belle reasoned, picking up her spoon once more and shifting in her seat. “At the rate Rapunzel is going through the pitcher I have in the larder, she’ll be done by the afternoon tomorrow. It would be more efficient if we had our own.”

Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth, but Belle continued quickly, “And you’ll have to relocate whatever is in the lake come spring. Don’t forget.”

Suddenly, the Dark One was bristling like a kitten who’d been scared awake. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

“I know you have a pet in there,” Belle said with a smirk, taking a spoonful of soup. “And I’m not going to have Rapunzel traipse into the water and get eaten or worse. Replace it with some ducks and frogs.”

His jaw was twitching, the muscle in his neck tightening, and Belle sipped at her soup knowingly for several long, quiet moments. His dark nails were tapping along the wood of the table until finally he collapsed back in his chair, heaving a sigh and looking utterly undefeated.

“What color shall the fabrics be?”

Belle finally smiled.


End file.
